Dark Jenny (30 page)

I looked at her. Her face shone, and strands of hair stuck to her cheeks. The resemblance was absolutely staggering: if I didn’t know Jenny was in the box, I’d think she stood before me. No wonder it fooled Marcus.

“I don’t know,” Kay said, using one of the chairs to get to his feet. “But there’s just so many of them, I can’t see how even he could get through.”

Gillian stood quietly at ease near the tent’s wall. He wore a uniform but no armor. “That is unfortunate.”

The sight of him, after all the time I’d spent dreading his appearance, annoyed me. “Yeah, well, at least you didn’t have to come chasing after me. I came back, like I said I would.”

He looked puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”

Kay laughed. It was a tight, harsh, barking sound, and everyone in the tent turned to him. He fought what appeared to be the giggles and said, “Hell, Eddie, I made that up. You really think we send the Knights of the Double Tarn out as roving assassins?” Kay shuddered as he struggled not to laugh, one hand pressed to the wound at his neck.

I stared at him. I was exhausted, pissed off, and no longer impressed by the world’s happiest kingdom. Then I used my arm to rake the royal finery from the table. The dishes, utensils, and crystal goblets hit the ground in a loud clatter, and Jennifer jumped back.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

I turned to Jameson. “Put the coffin on the table.”

He didn’t move, frozen in place by the outsize presence of King Marcus Drake. His mouth hung open in wonder.

“Do it!” I barked.

He did so, then dropped to his knees before Drake. The king looked at the mercenary, then at me. “Who
is
this man? And what is that coffin doing here?”

I nudged Jameson with my foot. When he looked up fearfully, I said softly, “Run.” He was out of the tent like a crossbow bolt.

I took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from my eyes. Gillian said quietly, “This conduct does merit an explanation, Mr. LaCrosse.”

“And it’ll get one,” I said, “as soon as all the players are here.” By now Medraft would know someone had broken through his lines bearing a coffin, and he’d have to come check it out. Then I could finish this.

A hand the size of a dinner plate grabbed my shoulder and spun me around, and again I found myself face-to-chest with Marcus Drake. He glared down at me like a storm cloud about to spit forth lightning. “I really don’t have the time or the patience for showboating today, Mr. LaCrosse. I’m facing an insurrection.”

I slapped his hand away. “You better have time for it.” I stood on tiptoe, leaned close, and spoke so softly only he could hear. “I know about Kindermord.”

Even in the tent’s dim light I saw him turn red, then white. He stepped away from me without a word.

Jennifer put one hand gingerly on the coffin. The manacle chain scraped lightly against the wood. “Is Elliot in there?” she asked me, her voice shaking. “Is that what you told Marc? Please, I have to know.”

“Not unless we cut him off at the knees to make him fit,” I said. It was cruel, but I was out of patience.

One of the knights standing guard called, “Someone’s coming, sire!”

Kay peeked outside. “Medraft,” he spat.

Cheers from the direction of the mercenaries grew louder. Armored horses approached and rattled to a halt outside. The tent flap was flung aside and two mercenaries entered, their eyes darting around to scope out any threat. They wore reasonably clean clothes and their hair was slicked down and neatly parted, like children forced to attend a civic function. It didn’t make them look any friendlier.

They stepped to either side of the opening. One held the flap while the other gestured for someone outside to enter.

It was “Dread Ted” Medraft. He wore his Double Tarn knight show armor and stood stiff and proud. A boy carried the end of his bloodred cape so it wouldn’t drag on the ground. Two more spit-polished mercenaries followed him in; the four soldiers took up positions at each of the corners.

Medraft frowned a bit at the coffin, but only momentarily. “Queen Jennifer, Sir Thomas,” he said coolly. His gaze finally settled on Marcus. “King Marcus.” No bowing or kneeling, not even a nod. “Or rather, Uncle Marc.”

Marcus said nothing. Gillian stepped between the two men and said, “General Medraft, you’re a traitor to your kingdom, and possibly to me. I challenge you to defend yourself.”

He swung a glove to slap the younger man, but Medraft blocked it with his forearm. “Don’t be an idiot, Tommy. I don’t know for sure if I’m your bastard or not, but this is not between you and I. It’s about our lovely queen, and her attempted murder of one of our fellow knights. I’m here to see a trial by combat. Now where, I wonder, is the queen’s champion?”

“Not so fast,” I said, loud enough to get everyone’s attention. This was the crowd I’d been waiting for. “Before anybody challenges anybody to anything, I have a story to tell you. You all know pieces of it, but only one person here knows it all.”

“You, I suppose,” Queen Jennifer said scornfully.

“Actually, no. But someone here does.”

Then I spun, pulled my sword, and grabbed the boy who’d been holding Medraft’s cape. I yanked him into the open, kicked his feet out from under him, and put the tip of my sword beneath his chin. I bent back his wrist to immobilize him. He lay still, flat on his back.

In drawing my sword I’d inadvertently slashed the tent’s roof. A shaft of sunlight fell on the boy’s face. I saw no fear, only rage and frustration.

“I think,” I said coolly, “you should introduce yourself.”

chapter

THIRTY-ONE

The tavern had grown chilly as I told my story. No one had stoked the fire, and it had died to almost nothing. My mouth was dry from all the talking, and my winter-chapped lips were starting to crack. I picked up my mug.

The crowd leaned in closer as if I might whisper the next part of the story. In the dead silence I heard the wind whistling outside. I’d never had so many eager faces turned my way, and it was kind of funny. The last of my ale bit at the raw spots on my lips, but it felt great going down my parched throat.

“And?” Gary finally prompted. I could see his breath.

“Yeah,” Sharky added. “Who was the boy? Is he Kindermord?”

I held up my hand. “I’ll get to it.”

The room groaned its collective disapproval. Even Liz rolled her eyes. I winked at her and grinned. “Somebody better get the fire going again before we all freeze to death,” I added.

“So did you know then who did it, Mr. LaCrosse?” Sharky’s daughter Minnow asked.

“Who did
what
?” said Emmett the fur trader. “Is this still about that knight who died?”

“That’s the thing, it never really was,” I assured him. “And I didn’t know everything, but I knew most of it. By the time I got to the tent, I knew who did it, and why, and how. Although there was still one big surprise left.”

“What was the secret Kern told you?” asked Mrs. Talbot, my landlady. She knitted winter tunics on the side, and her current project had grown considerably since I started my story.

“How did Marcus and Medraft really die?” Drucker the gambler demanded. “I mean, I know they
did
die that day, all the songs say so. Right?”

“And who is Kindermord?” Sharky said, sticking tenaciously to his question.

“I’ll get to it all, I promise.” Angelina put my fresh drink down on the counter so hard a third of it bounced up and splattered the wood. I picked it up and sipped it before adding, “So … has anyone figured it out yet?”

“Figured out
what
?” Gary demanded.

“Would it help if I told you I already met both the murderer of Sam Patrice
and
the mastermind of everything else before I left Nodlon Castle to go to Blithe Ward?” I said.

“What?” Callie said. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because I didn’t know it myself at the time.”

“The ballads all say it was Ted Medraft,” she insisted. “He killed Marcus because he couldn’t have Jennifer, but Marcus gave him a moral blow before he died.”

“You mean a
mortal
blow, honey,” Liz gently corrected.

“
I
bet it was that girl Iris,” Angelina said.

“No, I will say that,” I said, unable to keep the sadness from my voice. “It wasn’t Iris.”

“What gave it away?” Ralph demanded.

“The one absolutely impossible thing that happened,” I said.

“Finding two identical Jennifers?” Gary guessed.

“No. That was unlikely, but it wasn’t impossible.”

Liz snapped her fingers and said, “Your hand healing so fast?”

“No. Although that
was
a clue. But it wasn’t impossible.”

“That stupid Lord Huckleberry thing actually working?” Angelina said.

I laughed. “I can see why you’d think so, but no.”

Their eager faces now looked blank, and they exchanged puzzled glances.

“So the woman you called Dark Jenny is who’s in the coffin outside,” Angelina said without her usual disdain. Even she was now caught up in my story.

“No, don’t jump ahead of me.” I stood to stretch, and hands grabbed me to hold me in place, along with cries of protest.

“Hey, hey,” Liz said, slapping the hands away. “Don’t be rude, now. He’ll finish it.” She smiled at me the way a crocodile smiles at a calf drinking from the river. “Or at least he will if he knows what’s good for him.”

“I will, I promise. I just need to go upstairs for a minute and look at my notes again. This was complicated, and I want to make sure I get it all correct. It’ll give everyone a chance to get fresh drinks. Not on me this time, though.”

They grudgingly parted to let me visit my office. This time Liz followed, and I didn’t protest. She closed the outer door after I lit the lamp and said, “You don’t need to check your notes.”

I sank into my chair. “No.”

She perched on the edge of my desk and crossed her legs. “You’re just not sure if you want to tell the whole story.”

I took her hand. “How did you get this smart?”

“I’m not smart, I just know you. There’s something you don’t want everyone to know, and you’re trying to think of a way to finish the story without including it.”

I shrug-nodded. The danger of a smart girlfriend was that you couldn’t easily fool her.

She leaned down to look in my eyes. The lamplight made her impossibly lovely. “Then tell
me
. I’ll help you decide.”

“I can’t tell just you, they’re waiting.”

She got right in my face. “Let them. You don’t owe them. For that matter, you don’t owe me. But I would like to find out what happened, and I know you’d like to finish telling the story. So tell me, leave in everything, and then decide if you want to tell them.”

After the kiss I said, “I’m sorry you had to hear about Iris.”

“Long time ago,” she said dismissively.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

I got my office bottle from my desk and poured us each a drink. As we touched mugs, the impatient voices downstairs grew louder.

“Better make it quick,” she said.

I agreed.

chapter

THIRTY-TWO

“Go to hell,” the boy snarled as if he might bite me. Spittle collected at the corners of his mouth.

“Probably,” I agreed. “But not today.”

I moved the tip of my sword to his forehead and flicked it at his hairline. His hair came off, and Jennifer shrieked. Then she, and everyone else, realized it was just a wig. Long dark hair was pinned flat to his scalp.

I’m not sure I’d ever had a more dangerous captive. I moved the sword’s tip to the front of his tunic, keeping the pressure on his bent wrist. “If you want to retain your modesty, you’d better be more cooperative.”

The hatred in his eyes didn’t change. But his face did, rippling and becoming more feminine as we all watched. It only took a moment before someone, in this case Marcus, exclaimed the obvious.

“Megan!”

To this day I’m not entirely sure how she did it. Common sense says it was simply a supreme actor’s skill, combined with a moon priestess’s knowledge of substances and the kind of hatred only the righteous can feel. But it could very well have been some kind of magical glamour, because her true face bore no resemblance to that of the boy she’d just pretended to be. She was a woman near forty, neither beautiful nor homely, but as Cameron Kern had originally said, someone you wouldn’t look at twice. The perfect template for any disguise.

“Megan Drake,” Bob Kay whispered in wonder.

“And Polly, the old lady by the road who patched you up,” I said. “And Elaine at the Astolat tavern, who had all her teeth. And Rebecca, the queen’s attendant.”

“What?” Jennifer gasped. I could imagine her terror now.

Megan smiled. Her face changed again, to that of Rebecca. “Right under your nose, Marcus,” she said in Rebecca’s voice. “And you say there’s no magic in Grand Bruan.”

“And one more. Not a made-up identity this time, but a nice young serving girl named Mary who wore her prettiest dress to serve the queen.” I kept the sword at her throat. “Add a few cosmetic bruises and no one could tell the difference. Especially with the real girl out of the way in the sewer.”

“Let my mother go,” Medraft said calmly. It was the kind of calm that made weak men flee.

“I’d sooner kiss a scorpion,” I said. “Why don’t you take your sword out—slowly—and give it to Bob. Then tell your men to get out.”

He might’ve been discussing his boot laces. “And if I don’t?”

I nicked Megan Drake’s cheek. She gasped but didn’t cry out. “Let’s see your goddamned glamour hide that.”

“Oh, my friend,” Medraft said even more quietly, “that’s a debt to be paid.” But he took out his sword and placed it on the table beside the coffin with such deliberateness that it didn’t make a sound. He nodded at his bodyguards, and they departed.

“Get his sword, Bob,” I said. “Then tie this woman to a chair. Keep her hands where we can see them.”

He did, using strips torn from the tablecloth, and I kept my sword at her throat until she was secure. I said to her, “If you say anything out of line, I’ll gag you. If you try anything funny, I’ll kill you. I mean it.”